


Beyond The Storm

by nationalrebellion



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, Archie is a divorcee, Character Death, Episode one of Hawaii 5-O, F/M, Fangs and Toni are cousins, Gen, Gun Violence, Hawaii 5-O AU, Hawaii Five-0 inspired, Human Trafficking, Minor Character Death, Navy, OC death, Sweet Pea is the bad guy, Threats of Violence, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nationalrebellion/pseuds/nationalrebellion
Summary: venge·anceˈvenjəns/nounthe punishment inflicted or retribution exacted for an injury or wrong.synonyms: revenge, retribution, an eye for an eyeLieutenant Commander Forsythe P. Jones III had his hand forced when a prisoner transport goes array. This one single event manages to change the entire course of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Camp Castle, Dongducheon, South Korea_ **

 

The views were every vivid color you could imagine, each one as pristine as a new painting straight from Rome. The gleaming greens banished every dark thought, and the sky lifted the eye in a way that brought the residents to admire the strands of drifting white cloud. The trees were rooted with late spring foliage, and the wildflowers rioted in the right way that only the most divine of blooms can. 

The sound of locks clicking and keys turning filled his ears as the door of the holding cell was yanked open, light flooding in causing a man to squint and turn away. 

He was unshaven, in his early 30’s with black short-cropped hair, wearing an orange jumpsuit, shackles around his wrists, waist, and ankles. 

“Prisoner’s name is Trevor Gardner, also known as Hemlock.” Lieutenant Commander Forsythe “Jughead” Jones, III addressed as three Military Personnel pulled Gardner to his feet. He had a large file in his hand that was roughly four inches thick. He turned towards a CCTV that showed a news clip of a car bombing inside a building and bodies being bagged.

“He and his brother, Christopher “Sweet Pea” Gardner are responsible for more than three hundred civilian deaths-” Jughead flipped through the file until he landed on a picture of Christopher Gardner. He continued his brief, only pausing every few moments to look back up at Trevor, his face full of mutual hatred. 

Trevor was thoroughly searched by one of the MP’s as the other two oversaw checking Trevor’s mouth all the way down to his feet. Jughead carried on debriefing the other personnel on the case.

“They provided intel, illegal firearms, and explosives that were used to bomb the American Embassy in Bogota. The bulk of their funding comes from the deals made with illegal firearms and more recently, organizing logistics for Human Trafficking institutions throughout the Western Hemisphere.” 

The CCTV switched to another news clip, the anchor's voice flooded the small holding cell. “Human trafficking. Such a horrible sight, deplorable conditions- young children…” Jughead’s voice cut off the rest of the sentence as he read on. 

“They're wanted for moving women and children for commercial, sexual, and forced labor around the world. Trevor handled the numbers side of it; Sweet Pea’s the enforcer and still at large, operating. The prisoner is being transported to the Osan Air Base, then onto San Diego where he will be prosecuted to the utmost extent of the law.”

Two MP’s escorted Trevor down a long hallway and through a set of double doors, the dim lighting making the corridor seem darker. Jughead led the team down and stopped short just before they reach the military vehicles, turning to a member of his team. “Martinez, I want him secured and in the air in two hours--  the rest of the team and I will head to Armenia-- Sweet Pea’s last known location.” 

The soldiers disperse to their vehicles and mount up in an Infantry Carrier better known as “Stryker”-- an eight-wheeled, nine-passenger combat vehicle. Jughead locked eyes again with Trevor, mutual bitterness permeating the entire space as he paused for Trevor to be placed in the Stryker and climbed in after him.

Jughead sat across from Gardner and the two MP’s while Trevor stared at Jughead with a foreign expression. 

“You don’t look like a New Yorker.” Trevor taunted in a gravelly voice, throwing Jughead off guard: how did this man know where the hell Jughead was from? Still, he tried to remain unfazed and leaned close to Trevor, his voice dark and quiet.

“You’re going to tell us everything.” Jughead leaned back against the wall of the convoy; his gun wrapped securely in his hands. 

“You were born there, right?” Trevor tested, thoroughly disregarding Jughead’s previous statement.

“--Every buyer you’ve worked with, your trafficking associates--”

“--Seven years trailing my brother and I around the world, you think we didn’t do our homework on you?” Trevor mocked again, disrupting Jughead’s sentence. Abruptly, Jughead’s cell phone went off, and he couldn’t mask his confusion when he checked the caller I.D: “Dad.”

Trevor continued, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You should answer that… I mean, you don’t speak to your father frequently enough.” Jughead’s eyes widened, fear beginning to grip at his heart.  _ What in the hell happening? _

“Answer.” Trevor nonchalantly motioned to the phone, and Jughead swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. With his breath quickening, Jughead answered the call and held the phone to his ear.

“Dad…” he started, worry lacing through his voice.

“Champ--” FP said, throwing Jughead off guard for the second time in a five-minute period. His father never called him ‘Champ.’

“Are you alright?” Jughead questioned, staring hard at Trevor, his hatred growing by the second.

Across the world in Riverdale, New York, FP Jones sat tied up to a chair, his face bruised and bloody. The man was in his early 50’s and a retired member of the U.S Navy and the Riverdale Police Department. A phone was pressed to his ear-- along with the barrel of a .45 pistol.

“I don’t know who these people are. Jug--?” Before FP had the chance to finish his sentence, the phone was pulled away by Sweet Pea-- Trevor’s deadlier brother. Sweet Pea sneered at FP and put the phone to his ear.

“Now I know where you get it from-- you’ve got a tough old man here.” His voice was just as daunting as Trevor’s, but it held a more significant threat. 

“If you hurt him, I will f-”

“That’s not the way to go, Forsythe. Or is it Jughead? Let’s go with Jughead. Jughead: I’m offering you a fair trade here. It’s your father for my brother.” Sweet Pea cut Jughead off again; it seemed that the Gardner brothers had a habit of doing this.

Jughead’s eyes snapped up to meet Trevor’s across from him -- no more than three feet away -- just looking at him with a big, fat shit-eating smirk. Jughead’s heart rate was through the roof; his jaw clenched shut as he continued to listen to Sweet Pea.

“All things considered, Jughead, I’d say it’s more than generous, wouldn’t you?” Jughead’s nostrils flared as he grabbed a notepad from his cargo pocket and scribbled a note in bolden letters; “CONTACT THE TOC SEND RIVERDALE PD TO MY FATHER’S HOUSE NOW” and tore the paper off, handing it to the MP that was sitting next to him, who gave it to the Vehicle Commander. 

The Commander looked through the rearview mirror at Jughead with a confused expression to which Jughead urgently snapped his fingers. 

“Fucking do it!!”

The Commander located the digital comm system, quickly sending the message via text. Pulling his attention back to his conversation with Sweet Pea, Jughead struggled to reel in his anger.

“You’re smart enough to know that’s never going to happen--”

“Well, I appreciate the compliment, Jughead. Tell me something though, are you? Smart enough. I mean?”

“Come on, you know exactly how this works: even if I wanted to let your brother go, we don’t negotiate with terror-” Sweet Pea cut Jughead off again causing Jughead to knock his head back in frustration.

“-- make an exception. After all, family is... everything.” Sweet Pea turned around, coming face-to-face with a tech weasel, Joaquin DeSantos, who was working a ruggedized military laptop at the desk. 

The man made a ‘keep talking’ gesture with his finger. He focused on the laptop screen which showed a map of South Korea; a green triangle kept getting smaller and smaller until it locked in on the cell signal-- triangulating the location of the motorcade. Sweet Pea spun back around, waving his pistol in the air in a careless manner, frowning momentarily.

Back in convoy, the Vehicle Commander finished a call and scribbled something on the other side of the note that Jughead had given him minutes earlier. “PD ON THE WAY… 10 MINUTES OR LESS” regrettably, this news did little to ease Jughead’s dread. His mind began to race, and he knew he had to come up with something else -- anything. Thinking a few times, Jughead switched gears, trying to become more diplomatic.

“Alright… look, look… don’t do this. You and I can figure something out. But you know I’m not going to negotiate like this--”

Sweet Pea spun back around as the laptop began making a shrill beeping sound; an indication that there was a lock on Jughead’s location. The screen of the computer showed a thermal image of three moving convoys and DeSantos seized a walkie-talkie that was sitting next to the laptop, murmuring to the person on the other line. Sweet Pea nodded briefly and put the phone back to his ear as Jughead continued to talk to him.

“Oh, are we negotiating now?” He taunted, his voice low and Jughead could hear the lingering threat. DeSantos spoke into the radio, relaying the convoy location. “One to Dragon: I have them heading South along Highway 3 towards Dongducheon-” 

Jughead stared at Trevor with a controlled fury, but vulnerability flicked behind his eyes. This was new territory for him. 

“Kill him, and you get  _ nothing _ .” Jughead spits out, trying to even his breathing. Sweet Pea tilted his head to the side, nodding a response he knew that Jughead couldn’t see.

“Well, that’s true. However, I’m not exactly a patient man, Jones. And you’re testing me right now.” Sweet Pea looked down at FP, the man was exhausted and emotionally bruised.

“Give me the phone.” FP pleaded, looking up at Sweet Pea as he looked back behind at DeSantos who mouthed “Thirty seconds…” as FP continued with his appeals. Sweet Pea considered as he looked back and forth between FP and DeSantos.

“Please. I can get him to help you.” FP’s voice was beaten and emotional as he looked down. “He’ll listen to me… he’s my son.” With a roll of his eyes, Sweet Pea walked towards FP and put the pistol and phone next to FP’s face again- the man was wracked with several emotions, fear being one of the strongest but there was something more; a guilt that he hadn’t been as involved in Jughead’s life as he could have been.

“Listen to me, Champ--” 

“No, listen to me, I’m going to get you out of there, okay, Dad?” Jughead cut his father off quickly, his mind panicking as he continued to grapple with a way to save FP.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you enough.” FP’s voice was somewhat dejected, and Jughead felt like his chest was being repeatedly stabbed.

“What are you talking about? Dad?” Tears began falling from FP’s eyes as his head dropped.

“I love you, son.” This admission struck Jughead; these were the words he rarely, if ever, heard from this man.

“I didn’t say it enough, and that’s my fault. Not yours-- not JB’s--, please tell her that--” FP paused to look up at Sweet Pea. “And whatever these people want…” DeSantos signaled ‘ten seconds’ to Sweet Pea as FP stared right now the barrel of his gun, he was sorrowful, fearful, but he was tough. “Don’t give it to them. Don’t you give to them, you m--” Sweet Pea brought the handle of his pistol down and skull-cracked him, toppling his chair sideways, and FP crash-landed hard on the floor, causing him to feel dazed and confused.

“Dad?!! Dad?!!” Jughead shouted trying to hold himself together but failing.

“No more games! I told you what I want!” Sweet Pea roared back and hung up the phone, shoving it in his pocket.

“I swear to God if you hurt him -- I will hunt you down and murder you, you son of a bitch!” Jughead screeched out, his throat becoming raw only for him to realize that the line was dead. He was shaking with fury, his chest rising and falling rapidly when he heard the sound of rotors thumping. Furrowing his eyebrows, Jughead glanced up at Trevor who smiled and just responded.

 

“Boom.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Boom” was an understatement of the year. 

Out of nowhere, an attack helicopter dropped down and fired an anti-tank missile, hitting the lead vehicle, causing it to somersault, slamming back to earth in a horrendous impact.

DeSantos and Sweet Pea watched the satellite image of the attack from DeSantos’ laptop, observing as the Stryker swerved, narrowly missing the second missile attack, unfortunately hitting the following vehicle, killing everyone in it. Sweet Pea watched as white-hot images are strewn across the blast area, his own emotions building up as he began chewing on his bottom lip.

The Vehicle Commander sped up, using an evasive wheelman technique, the man barked into the radio, calling in the attack. In the back of the convoy, Jughead reached for a bullet-proof vest, strapping it on Trevor and when the two of them locked eyes, Trevor only merely grinned ear to ear-- he loved every second of this.

“Cover! Now! Head for that draw!” Jughead commanded, and the driver threw the wheel left and off the road, practically tossing Jughead, the two MP’s and Trevor to the side. Up in the air, the attack helicopter locked in on the Stryker heading off the road, sending four high energy magnetic rockets. The rockets soared through the air, opening up and a dozen of bomblets mushroomed out, bouncing all over the road, and when the Stryker passed over, its armor attracted bomblets, causing them to cling to the hull and sides of the Stryker. 

The driver swerved the wheel left and then right, trying with all his might to avoid the next volley, but without warning, the bomblets detonate, releasing not shrapnel but high-energy pulse blasts, causing the Stryker to short out and shut down. The Stryker rolled fast, and with another swerve, it clips on the right, toppling on its side and skidding across the road hard, sparks trailing close behind.

For everyone in the vehicle, the world was thrown sideways as they slammed into the wall, tumbling in every which direction until it finally stopped. For a brief moment, the Stryker just sat there, like some stagecoach that was waiting to be attacked. Another chopper hovered overhead, only a few hundred feet away from the Stryker as three extraction soldiers fast rope to the ground.

Jughead struggled to sit up, feeling wholly dazed and soon, he realized that the roof of the Stryker was now the floor. His vision blurred in and out of focus as he watched people tear away from the cars, disoriented and scared, but he quickly identified the extraction soldiers and reached for Trevor, grabbing his flex cuffs and torqued his wrist, causing Trevor to wince. 

“Move out! Take point; I got him!” Jughead yelled as loud as he could, grabbing an M-4 out of the weapons rack as the three extraction fighters move in on the Stryker. Abruptly, the back ramp of the vehicle flies open as Jughead, the driver, the vehicle commander, and the two MP’s leap out, their gun already ablaze. 

As the two MP’s bound toward an outcropping of rocks, they’re nearly shredded to pieces by the bullets. The Vehicle Commander managed to make it to the other side of the field, laying down suppressive fire, killing of the extraction team members.

Jughead was crouched down behind the overturned Stryker, struggling to shield Trevor from the attack as he runs over and grabs the 240, aiming for the helicopter and opens fire with a stream of tracers and as the bullets tear through the side of the aircraft, smoke begins to billow out, and the chopper veers off towards the treetops, clearly damaged. However, it wasn’t over just yet as the helicopter circled and peppered the ground with bullets around Jughead as he scrambled to the other side of the Stryker.

Tugging Trevor along and knowing he was out of bullets, Jughead tossed the machine gun and drew his .40 Caliber from his hip, peering out from behind the Stryker and unloaded his clip on the last remained soldier standing. When he looked back, Jughead discovered that Trevor was gone, the man was scrambling away, grabbing the sidearm off of the former MP.

“No! Drop it!” Jughead yelled out, but Trevor whirled around, turning the weapon on Jughead, leaving him with no choice, and two shots rang out, the bullets piercing Trevor’s body armor, causing him to fall back. Jughead rushed over to Trevor, only to discover that the second round had missed the shield and pierced Trevor’s chest. Jughead tried to stop the bleeding, but Trevor was coughing blood, and Jughead watched as the light left the man’s eyes. 

Trevor Gardner was dead.

Stumbling back, Jughead took in his surroundings. The field was laid with bodies, flames, and destruction. His mind was tumbling, knowing with a gut-wrenching certainty what Trevor’s death meant. In the silence of the damage, he heard the familiar chime, Jughead whirled around, trying to locate the phone which was laying on the ground but he didn’t move, he couldn’t. He just stared at the phone, watching it ring-- he didn’t want to answer it, but he knew he had to. Finally, Jughead picked up the phone, hitting ‘answer.’ His hands were shaking as he held the phone to his ear, the look of pure dread painting itself across his face.

“What happened?” Sweet Pea’s voice rang out on the other side of the line. There was an impossible silence, and it was quickly becoming the worst moment of Jughead’s life.

“Sweet Pea…” Jughead started, his voice beginning to falter

“Put Trevor on the phone,” he demanded, but when Jughead couldn’t bring himself to speak, a pregnant pause, Sweet Pea got his answer. 

He looked at the satellite image on the laptop, only one heat signature showing up and it just confirmed what Sweet Pea had thought. Rage began to build inside his chest.

“My brother is dead, isn’t he?!” He roared out, grief shining through in his voice as Jughead began to pace back and forth, tears flooding his eyes unable to bring himself to answer.

“Then so is your father.” Sweet Pea stated in a rough voice, and Jughead let out a shocked cry when he heard the gunshot that presumably ended his father’s life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter yiKES

Two days later, Jughead took jumpseat in a transport plane, watching below him as the trees and buildings passed by. As the aircraft broke through the clouds, Jughead stared ahead, a haunted expression his face and the pilot seemed to notice this.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, how long has it been since you’ve been home?” Jughead remained quiet at first, his lips forming a thin line.

“I don’t remember.” His voice was low, and it was evident that he felt beaten, exhausted even. In all honesty, it had probably been nearly seventeen years since he had last set foot in this town yet, it still held some gloomy atmosphere to it.

The transport plane hit the runway and taxied to a stop, and Jughead waited patiently as the cargo bay door lowered down and he stepped out, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The expression sprawled out on his face gave off the energy that he was a man on a mission, and perhaps that’s just what he was. Unbeknownst to him, there was black SUV waiting at the end of the runway for him, and Jughead was immediately on guard. He watched as a relatively young woman in her late twenties exit the vehicle and make a beeline towards him. The lady seemed to be all too eager for Jughead’s liking, but still, he bit his tongue.

“Good day! Commander Jones?” She offered Jughead a hand, but Jughead didn’t bother stopping, and the woman trailed after him.

“I don’t know you,” Jughead spoke matter-of-factly as he shifted his grip on his duffle bag.

“I’m Midge Klump; I work for Governor Lodge, she’d like a word with you.” Midge gestured towards the two secret service agents in sunglasses waiting by the SUV, their expressions stone cold. Jughead paused and looked down at Midge; something told him he wasn’t be asked. With a heavy sigh, Jughead changed his original direction and headed for the SUV where one of the agents opened the door, allowing him to slide in.

Jughead took a few moments to adjust to the low lighting as he focused on the woman sitting beside him. Governor Hermione Lodge was a rather beautiful woman in her early 50’s; she was a local New Yorker with Washington’s backbone. Anyone who met her would say she was a mix of brilliance, grace, compassion, and wit. Jughead was only perplexed at why the Governor of New York would be waiting for him in such a small town, he knew she was from here and that she knew his father in high school, but that was the extent of his knowledge of the woman.

“Thank you for seeing me, Commander Jones. I’m truly sorry for your loss. There are no words that I can offer to make this any easier.” The woman held out her hand, and Jughead shook his, nodding in appreciation, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Is this about my father’s murder? Has there been any updates in the investigation?”

“We’re doing everything we can. There are alerts out all across the tri-state counties.” Jughead scoffed at this, a wary laugh slipping through his lips.

“With all due respect, you’re not going to find a man like Sweet Pea with roadblocks and search warrants. I can guarantee you the man has gone underground until he finds a safe way to leave the state of New York.” Jughead pressed his back against the leather seat of the SUV, his body riddled with tension.

“Fair enough. Look, I would like to help you get what you came for. You know as well as I do when people think of New York, it’s a city that never sleeps, full of dreams and possibilities- but there has been an increase with drug smugglers, organized crime, human trafficking, and prostitution. It keeps growing, and it’s affecting our districts, but we can’t just close the roads and bridges anytime someone pulls the alarm. Look, Commander, if a man that is the number six arms dealer on Interpol’s watch list was able to murder a Senior Master Sergeant of the Air Force turned a prominent member of the Riverdale Police Department… then it is time for a game changer. As terrible as it is, your father’s death was a wake-up call, and I can’t wait for the next appropriations bill to pass, so I’ve decided to put together a task force, and I want you to run it.” Hermione folded her hands in her lap and looked up at Jughead expectantly, but Jughead just clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know your resume. Annapolis. Navy SEALS. Three years as a special investigator. And then you spent six with Naval Intelligence. I can't think of anyone bet--” Jughead held up his hand to stop Hermione from speaking, he wasn’t intentionally trying to be rude, but at this point, he didn’t have time to continue listening to the woman.

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there: I’ve been tracking Sweet Pea for seven years. His reach is far and wide, and he's got sources that are well hidden. The man’s a ghost, one of the best I’ve ever seen in my career. If he is bold enough to surface, I promise you he’s already prepared an exit tactic and he knows I know it, and that means I can barely even spend the hour it’ll take to bury my father, let alone stand here chatting with you.” Jughead shifted in his seat, gripping the door handle and was about to exit when Governor Lodge spoke up again.

“According to the Director of Naval Intelligence, you decided to take an extended leave. And I’m just going to make a premise it’s because the military isn’t really in the revenge business.” Jughead stopped abruptly, turning his body and narrowing his blue eyes at the Governor as she continued.

“Well, I am. And doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see going up against a man like Gardner as a vigilante is a mistake. Pure and simple. At worst, it would get you killed and at best, incarcerated. Point being, your father, will have died for nothing, so, what I’m offering you is a chance to get that son of a bitch. It’s common sense, Commander and you would have full immunity and means to what you need into to catch the man.” Hermione made a gesture for Jughead to exit the vehicle as she did the same.

When she came around the SUV, Jughead was slightly surprised to see the amount of confidence radiating off the woman’s body; she held her head high as she nodded her head sideways as if to encourage Jughead’s to follow her. Jughead paused for a moment then jogged to catch up with her, shaking his head the entire time.

“Look, lady, I am not a cop or some superhero.” Jughead’s patience was beginning to wear thin by now. He found this entire meeting wholly moot and ridiculous.

“I’m not talking about badges or sirens, Commander Jones. I’m talking about results. The task force would be a federalized unit that’s empowered by the Patriot Act, and it would have full blanket authority to hunt big game and get them the hell out of my state. It would be your rules and my backing. No red tape and I promise you, what you see is what you get.” Jughead took a more extended look at the woman, he couldn’t spot an ounce of deception in her feature, but still, he just shook his head.

“Here’s what I see, Governor Lodge: you’ve got an election year coming up, and you’re some politician that needs the PR- who’s willing to do whatever it takes. It was a good move showing up and cornering me in with this proposition, talking about my father being killed for nothing and trying to make me feel compelled to bring his killer to justice. Am I getting warmer, now?” Hermione’s eyes dropped to the ground, and she let out a sad sigh, a touch of emotion filling her voice.

“I still do not feel any less responsible, Commander. Your father was a dear friend of mind when we were younger, and he deserves justice.” Jughead could see that the woman meant it, that she was a real person, but unfortunately, it didn’t change his resolve.

“Pass.”

“Think about it, please. Have a good day, Commander.” Hermione handed Jughead her card as she turned on her heels and walked back towards the SUV, leaving Jughead behind with his thoughts. He couldn’t deny that he was a little impressed by the Governor. Fuck it he thinks to himself as he begins to move away from the buildings.


	4. Chapter 4

“She’s a smart lady, that one…” A voice sounded behind Jughead as he wheeled around, coming face-to-face with a familiar face but yet he couldn’t quite place it. The man was in his mid 30’s, with jet-black hair and dark brown eyes and he was slightly shorter than Jughead. He was an Ex-Riverdale Police officer turned Federal Security Guard.

“I know you...” Jughead started, trying to rack his brain from where he knew the man from.

“You better: Fangs Fogarty. I worked with your father in the 8th. He used to make me go with him to your little league games whenever he was working. I was your biggest fan.” Fangs smiled and pulled Jughead into a bear hug, causing Jughead to grin and let out a laugh.

“I remember, you were very loud.” Jughead grinned, pulling away from Fangs and gave him a nod. It had been over fifteen years since Jughead had seen Fangs-- but the years only proved to be kind to Fangs. Jughead noted how tired the man's eyes looked and he supposed that after so many years on the force, such a thing was bound to happen.

“Big lungs.” Fangs returned Jughead's laugh as two of them stepped away from each other and Jughead looked around him. Riverdale still hadn't changed one bit in all of the years that he had been gone. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He supposed it was right-- it would mean that many of his local hangouts from when he was a kid were still around.

“And good ears,” Jughead commented, referring to Fangs eavesdropping in on his conversation with the Governor. Fangs laughed and shook his head.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s an old habit from my old job. You know… see and hear everything.” Jughead nodded his head in agreement as the two men began walking down the raceway.

“It looks like you’ve moved on to greener pastures.” Fangs let out a small chuckle, pausing briefly and cleared his throat.

“Thanks for putting it that way.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t me-” Fangs waved his hand in the air, cutting Jughead off.

“-no, you’re right. Let’s say that the Riverdale PD and I had a slight disagreement over my job description. Your father understood though. He was kind to me after I was let go; stayed my friend when everyone else abandoned me and I know it cost him something. I truly wish that I had the chance to pay back some of the loyalty he showed me. But, you're here now, and so maybe you can do something about it.” Jughead furrowed his eyebrows at Fangs, not quite grasping where the man was going with this.

“What do you mean?”

“I still have a few inside sources, and they tell me the ingenious minds calling all of the shots put some newbie in the department on your father’s murder investigation.”

“What do you know about the guy?”

“Not much. Word out there is that he’s fresh meat from San Francisco, which means he has no idea how things work in Riverdale.” Jughead offered Fangs a final nod, clapping him on the shoulder and walked away towards the one place he wasn’t sure he could face.

Across the town, a man sat in an unmarked RPD sedan waiting outside a more prominent and high class gated area of Riverdale. Archie Andrews was in his early 30’s, with bright red hair and an ex-San Francisco PD. In the passenger seat next to him was a life-sized stuffed pink rabbit, he shook his head as he glanced at the Jones case file while talking on his cell phone.

“This is Detective Archie Andrews, badge number 4-8-2-7, I need surveillance to write up for the suspect that's connected to the FP Jones murder. The suspect name is Dilton Doiley… D-O-I-L-E-Y…” He looked up to see the gate beginning to open. “Terrific, call me back.” Archie hung up his phone and climbed out of his car, greeting an 8-year old girl walking down the driveway, wearing her school uniform and carrying a small cage with a real pet rabbit inside. Archie smiled brightly at his daughter, Miriam “Miri” Andrews; she was the only reason that he ever smiled occasionally.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Hi, daddy.” Miriam smiled sweetly at Archie as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Who’s this?” Archie questioned, pointing to the rabbit as Miriam held the cage up, offering Archie a better view.

“Mr. Hoppy. Chuck bought for me for animal show and tell.” Archie kept his emotions in check, but there was a hitch, a feeling like he was always coming up short.

“That’s great… we better go. We don’t want Mr. Hoppy to be late for his first day of school.” As Archie started to lead Miriam around the car, he reached through the driver’s side window and managed to toss the pink bunny into the back seat before Miriam could see it. They drove off towards Miriam’s private school, and Archie lived for the small moments in the mornings when he would drive her to school, and the two of them would laugh and joke about everything. Miriam indeed was Archie’s shining glory.

A few hours later, the Main Street of Riverdale was lined with civilians and cops in dress blues. Jughead and his younger sister, JB Jones, walked behind the hearse carrying their father’s flag-draped coffin. JB has shades covering her face as an attempt to hid her grief. Multiple bracelets and a nose stud, however, seemed to betray her punky roots. There was a silent tension between the two of them-- a troubled history that was now being forced back into the present. Jughead, for his part, seemed anxious, distracted, his ocean blue eyes scanning faces. He wouldn’t allow himself to grieve; he couldn’t. Further up the road, standing apart from the cops, Jughead noticed Fangs Fogarty paying his last respects.

Much later into the day, Jughead watched as the last mourners drift away from the cemetery. He accepted condolences from a couple only to be distracted by JB, who was too-loudly flirting and laughing with a group of cops. In his opinion, it could not be any more inappropriate. Jughead left the couple and made a beeline for his sister, gently but firmly taking her by the arm.

“Excuse us, Gentlemen,” Jughead spoke, nodding his head at the cops as he leads himself and JB to a secluded spot under the tree. JB yanked her arm away from Jughead, much like an annoyed teenager.

“What did you take?”

“What-- nothing-- No, you really wanna do this now? Here?” JB inquired, crossing her arms and letting out an annoyed huff.

“Take off your sunglasses, you were never a good liar,” Jughead demanded, but when JB refused, he reached up and pulled the glasses off himself. And yeah, it was apparent that JB was stoned, and pissed off.

“Well, we could wait another four or five years before we see each other again. Who knows, maybe I’ll be an expert liar by then.” JB rolled her eyes at Jughead who only gave her a tight-lipped smile. JB let out an annoyed sigh as she continued to sass her older brother.

“You know something? It’s a skill of yours- starting a conversation this badly. How about: Hi, little sister, how’s LA? How’s work? You know, like a normal person, not some military drone.”

“You came to dad’s funeral high.”

“Jesus, Jughead, it’s just a Vicodin. Besides, why should I have to justify anything to you?”

“I don’t know, JB, maybe because I’m the one who let dad go to his grave believing you were his perfect little girl. I was the one you called when you got arrested, you called him when you went to rehab-- don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did, but don’t pretend I’m overstepping my bounds now when I’m trying to keep you from embarrassing yourself.” Jughead paused briefly and let out a sad sigh, looking at the slightly hurt expression on JB’s face as he continued, his tone much softer now.

“How’s LA?” JB was struck by his sudden change and responded quietly.

“Traffic sucks…” JB looked down at the ground, the grass becoming the most exciting thing in the world.

“And how’s work?”

“Got fired,” JB grumbled, picking at the frayed ends of her purse.

“Sorry.” For a moment, it was quiet, and JB exhaled, moving to sit on a bench. Jughead paused briefly before moving to sit beside her, staring at their father’s grave. A sad smirk was displayed on JB’s face as she hummed softly to herself.

“The last time we were alone with dad together was mom’s funeral. I guess this is how we do family reunions now.” Jughead could hear the pain and the anger in JB’s voice as he stared off into the distance.

“Jellybean, look... Dad- he wanted me to tell you that he loved you, JB. That he should’ve said it more and that he was sorry.”

“Sorry? For what, shutting down completely? Shipping us away when we were teenagers? It’s too little too late for that, don’t you think?” A troubled looked was plastered on Jughead’s face as he leaned forward, shaking his legs impatiently.

“He said something else… do you ever remember him calling me ‘champ’?”

“Champ? And he apologized? Are you sure it was Dad?” Jughead let out a scoff and shook his head.

“It wasn’t a normal apology… it was like a… plea for penance or something.” JB sighed, she knew that her big brother wouldn’t rest until he found the person or people accountable for this.

“You’re gonna get the guy who killed him, aren’t you?” Jughead looked up at JB, his eyes telling her everything she needed to know. Her voice began to crack as she grabbed Jughead’s hand in hers.

“Do me a favor?” She paused, and Jughead waited for her to continue. “Hurt him.” and all Jughead could do was give her a nod and make a silent promise to himself. He would get Sweet Pea for this, no matter how long it took.


	5. Chapter 5

A taxi rolled up to an all too familiar place. Jughead climbed out, in civvies, with his duffel in hand. How long had it been since he had laid eyes on this place? It was his childhood home yet it felt. He ducked under the crime scene tape to the backyard, finding an old planter by the back door and lifted it. He let out a sigh of relief as he saw that the extra key was still there, it would lead him into the garage. Jughead let himself in and turned on the lights, his attention immediately being drawn to his father’s pride and joy, a 1968 Mercury Brougham The tarp was partially rolled back, a restoration project forever.

His mind shot back to when Jughead was only six-years-old as he stood by his proud father’s side, circling the old beater.

“Feast your eyes-- The only and only Parklane Brougham. Mercury’s flagship vehicle. Jughead, we’re going to make her cherry, and when the time comes, she’s yours.”

Jughead returned to reality, and there was something of a fire in his eyes. He walked through the door the led to the kitchen, turning on the light. Splattered blood stains screamed at him from the already processed crime scene. Jughead just stood there for a beat, feeling sick and trying to pull in his emotions before he moved to conduct his own investigation.

Using the directionality of the blood spatter, Jughead stood where Sweet Pea shot his father and looked at the wall, seeing more spatters. Nearby, Jughead spotted a partial bloody shoe print, and he measured it with his shoe. It was smaller, and it was a cause for concern. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a picture then noticed something off-putting about the way the kitchen table was cluttered across the room -- like someone was making room for something -- and the seat is slightly backed away. Jughead concentrated on this particular spot, it was away from all of the blood, so it did not appear to have been processed.

Jughead reached into his duffle bag and pulled out his laptop, holding it over the empty space on the table-- it was a perfect fit. Setting his computer back in his duffle bag, Jughead simulated the same position and suddenly got an idea. Getting up from the seat, he walked over to a shelf that was lined with primitive Derby Cars, a hobby of his father’s. He grabbed a tube of “Hob-e-Lube” dry graphite lubricant powder, pinching the container to coat the table and blew lightly. The dust floated into the air and revealed two palm prints that developed at the edge of the table. Quickly, he snapped another picture and speed dialed a number.

Roughly six thousand miles away on the Navcent Operations Center in the middle of the Persian Gulf, Lieutenant Elizabeth “Betty” Cooper was smart and beautiful, manning an Intel Processing Node when she received an email on her console, non-navy. The email ID showed a picture of Jughead, smiling against a tropical background-- it was a picture taken during off-hours. Betty read the email from Jughead; “NEED YOUR HELP. CAN YOU TALK?” she turned to her enlisted counterpart next to her.

“Cover for me? Head call.” Her counterpart merrily nodded as Betty spun in her seat, leaving her station. Betty emerged from the front doors of her building, passing under the caption: US NAVY CENTRAL COMMAND HQ, US FIFTH FLEET.

The scene in front of her was hot, bright, and everything a desert tone. Once Betty was clear of the building, she dialed Jughead’s number, listening to it ring as she waited for him to pick up.

“Hey, Sailor--”

“Jug, I read about your dad in the Red Cross burst messages. God, I’m so sorry…”

“Thanks, Betts. Look um, I need your help.”

“Anything--”

“I’m emailing you two palm prints, can you run them against the CIA database and see what turned up? Have to stay out of the system.” Jughead stood at the counter in front of his laptop, moving the image attached to the email.

“CIA files aren’t normal flash traffic-- could raise some flags.” Betty bit her bottom lip, tapping her foot quickly against the floor.

“Try. Did you get my flowers?” Jughead questioned, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he put everything back in its original spot.

“The Persian Gulf’s a little outside Conroy’s delivery zone-” Betty started but was cut off by a pinging sound from her phone, and she looked at it, a picture of roses appearing on the screen. Betty let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“You’re like the good-looking guy in high school who knows how cute he is, and won’t take no for an answer.”

“Next time I’ll give them to you in person. Promise.” Betty could almost seem the small grin on Jughead’s face as she let out a gentle sigh.

“Give me a few hours. But Jughead, I know what you’re doing… please be careful.” There was a moment lingering in the air, but neither of them said anything and eventually, Jughead hung up the phone. Tucking the phone in his pocket, and left the kitchen, the same way he came in-- through the garage.

Taking it all in one last time: the tools, the clutter, a man’s workplace and then he stopped. Suddenly, something sitting on the shelf captured his attention that he was utterly unprepared for... An old toolbox with a faded ‘Champion Spark Plug’ logo but after years of use, “Champ” was the only thing legible.

Jughead pulled the box off the shelf, opening it. Inside was an old key, and old crime scene photo: the aftermath of a burned down building. Each picture marked with a date that meant something to Jughead and his mind began to spin-- what was all of this?

Just then, Jughead heard a floorboard creak; there was someone else in the house. Jughead quickly drew his automatic, pinning himself to the wall with his finger on the trigger- ready to shoot the invader as soon as they came around the bend.

“Don’t move--!” Archie exclaimed right as Jughead came into his viewpoint.

“Who the hell are you—“ Jughead screamed out, the veins in his neck practically sticking out. He kept his gun pointed at Archie’s face, never backing down for a moment.

“Detective Archie Andrews, Riverdale PD, put your gun away,” Archie answered with a slight hint of annoyance as he remained on guard, not letting Jughead try to pull a fast one.

“No, I want you to put your gun away and let me see some ID…”

“I’m not putting my gun down.” There was a pause, and the tension was filling the room.

“Fine: don’t put your gun down, just use your hand to pull out your ID--”

“After you--”

“At the same time--” Jughead counter offered, nodded his head at Archie’s gun.

“One… two… three..” Both Archie and Jughead moved in tandem, slowly, drawing their wallets, both aiming their guns and ID’s at each other. With the truth verified, they holster their weapons.

“Look, I’m sorry about your father, but you can’t be here -- it's still an active crime scene--”

“Doesn’t seem all that active,” Jughead interjected, not wanting to waste any precious time standing here, having a tiring conversation with some second-rate cop that didn’t understand how things worked in Riverdale.

“I can’t share that information with you.” Archie felt terrible about the ordeal that Jughead was going through, he did, but he wasn’t at liberty to discuss such details, no matter the man’s rank.

“Then I’ll share some with you: Sweet Pea wasn’t alone here-- someone was sitting at the kitchen counter operating on a laptop when my father was murdered. If you look closely, there was a space cleared on the counter, roughly the size of a 13 inch Macbook pro. My father hated computers, alright? There’s absolutely no reason for there to be one.” Jughead’s tone was somewhat dark and very matter-of-factly.

“Look, I get that you’re dealing with grief or whatever, but you need to leave now--” Archie gestured towards the door, and Jughead nodded, picking up the toolbox in the process and proceeded to walk away before Archie stopped him.

“Okay, you can’t take that, everything in this house is evidence.”

“This? I came with it.” It was a bold lie, and he didn’t miss a beat. Archie let out a small laugh, his patience for Jughead running thin.

“Nice try but no you didn’t. I can see the dust void it left on the shelf. What are you hiding in there--” One hand was tucked into his pocket while the other one waved in the air, pointing at the shelf. Jughead set the toolbox down but never released it as he nodded and decided to try and dodge the question by changing the subject.

“How long have you been with Riverdale PD?”

“None of your goddamn business, Perez Hilton.”

“Well, if you’re investigating my father’s murder, then it is.” It was evident that neither of these men were going to back down and it only made the garage feel like it was going to explode with testosterone.

“Right, right, and I’d like to get back to that. So, the sooner you leave, the sooner I can continue.” His tone was filled with sarcasm, Archie didn’t like the man standing in front of him right now. Jughead threw his hands up in surrender and smiled at Archie, nodding once.

“Whatever you say.” He began to leave, tugging the toolbox with him when Archie let out a short laugh.

“You better leave that box or get arrested.” Archie threatened, folding his arms over his chest, standing tall.

“What? Are you going to call for backup?”

“An ambulance,” Archie responded in a snarky tone, and for a few moments, there was a stare between the two men. Eventually, Jughead let out a heavy sigh and set the toolbox down.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” Jughead sassed as he pulled out the Governor’s card and his phone from his pocket, dialing a number and waited for someone to pick up. He turned his attention to Archie, grinning, sticking a finger in the air as if to indicate he would be with him in a moment.

“Governor Lodge, please. Tell her it’s Jughead Jones.” Jughead smiled at Archie, and all Archie could do was roll his eyes and shake his head. This man was being utterly ridiculous-- calling the Governor? How stupid did Jughead think he was?

“Yeah, right.” Archie scoffed, rolling over on the heel of his shoes.

“I’ll take the job... let’s just say I found something that changed my mind.” He answered, his eyes landing on the toolbox. He paused for a brief moment, listening to Governor Lodge on the other end of the line. She was more than pleased to hear that Jughead had decided to take her up on her offer and proceeded to ask when he could start.

“Immediately. But I want to get one thing straight; when the time comes-- I don’t want to hear any of the bureaucratic bullshit about a ‘red tape’ or ‘I’ll get back to you.’ because that’s not going to work with me.” There was another pause, but it was longer this times, and Archie stood by, waiting impatiently for Jughead to finish his phone call.

“Are you serious? Right-- right now?” Archie just stared at Jughead, what the hell was happening? Jughead suddenly became a little sheepish, turning away from Archie as he raised his right hand in the air, standing tall.

“I, Forsythe P. Jones III, do solemnly declare upon my honor and conscience that I will act at all times to the best of my ability and knowledge in a manner befitting and officer of the law. I will faithfully obey the orders of my superiors and will be ready to confront danger in the line of duty.” Jughead turned on his heels, looking Archie straight in the eyes, a proud smile on his face to taunt the ginger-headed man.

“Thank you, Governor,” Jughead said merely before hanging up the phone, tucking it into his pocket and gripped the handle of the toolbox.

“It’s my crime scene. You have a good day, now.” With a flourish, Jughead swept the toolbox up and headed out of the garage, leaving behind a stunned and definitely furious Archie.


End file.
